


Prada: What the Devil Wears, Baby!

by elle_nic



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Angst, Mature Andy, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, at the very end though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: “You don’t have to say anything sometimes,” Miranda said in a tone that sounded like she was confessing something. “Sometimes,” she continued, looking from the Book to Andy, “Sometimes they don’t want your words and they don’t want your silence. What is a woman to do, I wonder, in the face of that?”///Andy and Nate break up and Miranda divorces Stephen. It all lines up rather perfectly, actually.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly & Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 99
Kudos: 584
Collections: 4sk





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has been driving me nuts so I revived an old WIP that had been gathering dust on my laptop. It was originally titled 'KICK KERRY'S ARSE', so I suspect it was conceived around the time of our discord's first writing challenge. Regardless, here is the first chapter, unbetaed. The rest are completed and need only to be uploaded. 
> 
> Stay safe and stay home, wherever that may be.
> 
> Elle x

It was a secret for them both, in a way. Miranda had torn into her during a run-through, basically called her a cheap, airheaded arrogant fool in front of her colleagues. Andy had remained wilfully ignorant to the complexity of fashion, had been told to ‘woman up, Six’ after the Miami incident, then she had evolved into the proverbial swan. From there, Andy and Miranda had found a new respect for each other. They had become… amicable.

Andy had nearly fucked that up, too, when she walked up the damn stairs, caught Stephen hissing at Miranda as she tried to tell her husband there signal was out, that no one could get their phones to work (which was true, because Andy bore the brunt of the frustrated texts that sent twenty minutes later when her phone regained signal). Miranda had been… Angry wasn’t quite the word, but it was close. She looked betrayed, which had broken some compassionate part of Andy. Harry Potter made a better apology than she ever could, and thankfully, it was enough.

Life after that went back to normal, sort of. Andy continued to try to appease Nate who nagged at her to quit every time they spoke. She tried to appease Miranda who demanded everything under the sun “immediately, if not sooner”. She was better at the latter, surprisingly. Or maybe not so surprisingly, after all. Miranda and her, had grown into a routine of sorts where they worked in accord, ebbing and flowing around each other. They had grown comfortable.

“Where’s that piece of paper that I wrote that thing on yesterday?”

Miranda had just strutted over to the doorway to her office to ask the question, belying her urgency for whatever was on that paper. Emily spluttered something about “I know I _just_ saw it on, um, on the desks,” but then coming up empty after that. Andy pulled out her drawer without pausing her conversation with the Saab representative on the phone, pulling out a little yellow post-it. On it was something scrawled in Miranda’s dramatic, loopy script (a perfect contradiction to the woman… apart from dramatic, but Andy would never tell).

“Thank you, Andréa,” she said, grabbing the paper and retreating to her desk. Andy didn’t have the chance to tell her she was welcome.

Moments like that were no longer as rare as they once had been. Emily, upon hearing Miranda thank Andy or (less usually) her, did not gawk with her mouth open. She didn’t say “you’re welcome” either, but Andy thought she’d work up to that. It became something of common knowledge that Andy was the best person to go to with bad news, because she could manage the tantrum that followed with miraculous aplomb. Miranda no longer talked to her like she had the IQ of a rock, and Andy no longer whispered her opinions in her own head. They were acquaintances in a way: just learning about each other until they decided where to go from there. Andy wondered what the options were.

Andy was allowed to ride in the elevator one day. It was a coincidence of situational haste, but it had happened once and Miranda had decided it could happened again and every time. Like with the thank yous and the Looking and the moments of peace between them. Andy went down in history as the only person, forget assistant, to share the elevator with Miranda. To others, it was an enigma of universal proportions. To Andy, it was just Miranda doing as she pleased, and she pleased to have Andy in her elevator with her (Andy ignored the spark of delight that this drew from her).

“The girls enjoyed their books,” Miranda said one such elevator trip. Andy turned to look at her for only a moment.

“I’m glad. They were pretty excited when I gave it to them,” she replied, keeping her tone light and conversational. She wondered if this was one of the things Miranda was going to introduce into their little acquaintanceship _thing_. Talking about Miranda’s children, that is.

“They thanked me profusely for getting them their books.”

Andy didn’t have to turn to know Miranda had a despicable smirk on her face. Even her voice was self-satisfied. Andy scoffed a laugh and grinned, too, not turning to look at the woman beside her. “You performed a miracle to get them, so I dare say, thanks are in order.”

Just as the elevator chimed the 17th floor, Miranda swept passed her, the ghost of her smirk still present and murmuring, “cheeky,” as she glided past Andy. She decided when she sat at her desk that even if it was a weird one, the relationship that Andy had with Miranda was a friendship. Andy hoped it was mutual.

“She’s not happy about something in the Book,” Emily said, some weeks later. Andy hummed from her desk.

“It was the old Hollywood shoot. There was a model there that she hadn’t approved. She’s trying to figure out who thought they could override her authority.” Too busy typing away at her computer, Andy didn’t see the quizzical look on Emily’s face.

“And when did she mention this? Was I in some short-term coma?”

“No, she pointed it out last night when she was showing me the Book.”

“She shows you the Book?”

At the incredulous tone, Andy finally looked up and witnessed, with no small amount of confusion, the daunting horror on Emily’s face.

“My god,” she gasped, “What is _with_ you two?”

Andy didn’t answer.

“Andréa,” Miranda beckoned that night, heralding another impromptu session of editing the Book (well, Miranda edited and Andy tried not to openly laugh at how funny the woman was when she was insulting people other than her).

“Hey,” Andy said, forgetting who she was talking to. She was out of sorts after a stupid phone call with Nate, but instead of firing her on the spot, Miranda quirked a brow and replied, “Hey,” in a gently mocking tone.

“Sorry,” she said, again forgetting just who in the world didn’t care for apologies, “Weird night.”

“No trouble from the art department, I hope?” Miranda asked, accepting the Book with a quiet, “thank you.”

“No, not this time.”

“Andréa, really. Sit down and tell me or sit down and be useful,” Miranda ordered, though it contained very little bite. She clicked her pen, the echo of it urging Andy to be seated, so she did, falling into a seat ( _her seat_ , she thought at first, then realised how dangerous that thought was).

“Nate, my boyfriend, called me before I got here to pick a fight with me,” Andy began, wondering how much she should really say. “He’s just adjusting, I guess.”

“Adjusting?”

Andy could hear the pitch of scepticism plain as day. “Um… yeah,” she said lamely.

“I do not think you think that, Andréa.” Andy heard the chastisement hidden there. It didn’t make her angry like she thought it was supposed to. Instead, she felt relief wash through her that maybe she wasn’t being selfish to prioritise her job over being available for Nate. But then again, as much as Andy was truly taking a liking to Miranda, she was not the model to replicate her working schedule from.

“I never know what to say to him anymore.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Nate would tell her she deserved better, that Miranda was a bitch, that she should quit. And when Andy disagreed he got frustrated and tried to _disillusion_ her about her evil job and boss, and when she tried to soothe him (like he was a fucking child) he got pouty and silent. Either way she lost and either way they argued and went to sleep angry at each other. Andy was sick of it, but Nate and her could only live in New York if they had each other, and having each other was less painful than being homeless, but not by much, admittedly.

“You don’t have to say anything sometimes,” Miranda said in a tone that sounded like she was confessing something. “Sometimes,” she continued, looking from the Book to Andy, “Sometimes they don’t want your words and they don’t want your silence. What is a woman to do, I wonder, in the face of that?”

Andy left that night after a jarringly gentle “that’s all, Andréa” and wondered if Miranda had anyone she knew in her life that was on her side. She didn’t think she did. Her husband didn’t listen to her and didn’t respect her work. Her ‘friends’ were all part of the fashion industry, so they were technically not friends of choice, rather friends of convenience. Andy felt a chime of something not quite pity resound in her. It was the sound of her decision to become friends with Miranda Priestly.

Her plan was easier in her head, she realised the next night. _Runway_ had been a shitshow from the moment Miranda got there until the moment she fired three people and even after that. She had been over an hour late with the Book, because some fucking _idiot_ had spilled their coffee over the cover and some inner pages which they needed to reprint and bind. Roy had called her and said he had a flat and needed to change it before he got there, which pushed her back another ten minutes, and then in the car Nate had called to demand where she was at nearly midnight on a worknight (hypocritical since he always went out with his colleagues after work in the evenings).

“There was idiot mistake after idiot mistake at work today. It’ll be at least an hour before I get back to the apartment,” Andy informed, keeping her tone free of the soft, pleading note it sometimes carried with him. He didn’t deserve it.

“This is her fault, you know? If she was a normal fucking person-”

“Nate, not now,” she sighed angrily.

“What? It’s the truth and you know it, Andy. She’s _using_ you and you-”

“Nate, be so fucking careful what you say to me next because I swear to god, I don’t have the energy to pander to your whining tonight.” She heard Roy’s chuckle from the back.

“Are you kidding? Andy what the fuck is wrong with you,” he hissed out, disbelief colouring his syllables.

“We will talk about this when I get home,” she said firmly. “And don’t you ever call me to demand where I am. You’re my boyfriend, not my keeper. Got it?”

“Whatever,” he snapped, then hung up.

“Goddammit,” Andy swore, angry and riled up. Roy gave her a kind look in the mirror which was sweet but also made her a little madder. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Roy.”

“No problem, Andy. Sounds like a real piece of work, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“He _is_ a real piece of work, if you don’t mind _my_ saying so.”

When they pulled up to the townhouse, Andy expected the lights to be off and to have to slink around placing the dry-cleaning and the Book in their respective places before leaving again, a whisper in the night. Like an assistant Santa or something close to it. But the lights were on, and Miranda was pacing around the den like an agitated tiger, noticing Andy as soon as she arrived.

“Do you know how late it is?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. A flat tire and the guy, Henry maybe, in the art department is an idiot,” Andy said flatly. She didn’t have the energy even for Miranda to put on her assistant voice and pretend to be eager for more work. Nate had pissed her off big time and the fact that he was definitely going to wait up so he could pick another fight with her was gnawing on her last thread of patience.

“What else happened,” Miranda questioned, taking the Book from Andy as she slipped into the closet to hang up the dry-cleaning. Andy was slightly mollified by Miranda’s modified tone, the gentler one that she used when they were alone or working well at the office. It was one that was stripped of Miranda’s usual haughtiness and severity. It was her Friend Voice, Andy thought, and she relished in it when it was gifted to her.

“Nate called to pick a fight and I might have embarrassed Roy a little by my yelling,” Andy sighed, hanging the last article of clothing and stepping out of the hallway closet. Miranda still stood, holding the Book delicately in her arms, with a small crease in her brows. Andy knew then that Stephen had kicked up a similar fuss when Miranda got home (which was an hour later than usual) and immediately she felt her ire rise. She hated the echo of hissing disdain that she had heard Stephen use against Miranda weeks before. Fuck that.

“Andréa, Paris is coming up,” Miranda said suddenly.

“Yeah, Emily’s been raving about it,” Andy said, recalling the story of how Emily had gone out on the weekend in the hopes of catching a stomach flu. Andy had winced then, but just barely managed to contain it in front of Miranda.

“I need the best team with me in Paris. That no longer includes Emily,” she said meaningfully. Andy understood immediately. She wasn’t going to lie to herself, she wanted to go, wanted to see Miranda in her element like that and see Paris again (where she had transferred at in college). But Emily, for all her prickles and her thorns, was her friend and lived for the day she would go to Paris Fashion Week. Andy didn’t want to hurt her friend, but she also imagined Miranda wasn’t looking to be told ‘no’.

“Can I think about it?”

It was a testament to their growing friendship that Miranda paused then nodded. “I want your answer tomorrow morning. If you don’t agree then…” Then she’d be fired, was what she knew Miranda wanted to say, but didn’t.

“I’m not going to say no, Miranda, I just need to think about how to tell Emily. She’s going to be upset,” she sighed tiredly.

“I will make it up to her,” Miranda said, in confidence, Andy knew.

“Me too,” she replied, her soft voice owing to the silence of the house they were in.

“Best not to keep Roy waiting,” Miranda said, breaking the quiet. Andy was grateful. She hadn’t the energy or inclination to scrutinise her other feelings for Miranda. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“You’re right.”

“I’m never wrong,” Miranda said with a miniscule grin. Andy grinned back before slipping out the door and into the car idling on the curb.

“Home time?” Roy asked.

“Home time,” Andy replied. Upon recalling who exactly was waiting for her, it was not a relief at all.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why wait to be broken up with when you can do the breaking up? Miranda and Andy wonder -- but not for too terribly long -- about this very question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to add this chapter yesterday but then I had a really bad day and decided not to. Here is chapter two, regardless! There's two more chapters after this and a very small, gratuitous epilogue to look forward to. Enjoy!

It was a fight to remember when she got home that night. Nate had been stewing since she ended the call with him earlier and had thought up some pretty incriminating arguments against _Runway_ and Miranda. Her pay was better than his but only because her hours were more sporadic and longer. Her boss was a mental case with no people skills and no regard for her employees. She was blind to it all and Nate was trying to help her see what was right in front of her.

What a load of shit.

She had turned the argument around, of course. She had been accepted to Stanford Law on merit, which meant she could argue and argue well. Her pay was better because she worked more, and she knew for a fact Nate had turned down a heavier schedule (without discussing it with her, which still piqued her even now, months later). His boss was not running a multi-billion dollar industry, he was running a shitty little restaurant that served the same ten people the same ten things day in and day out. And the real stickler: she wasn’t blind, she was _happy_.

_“The only thing I seem to be regretting is not my job, but the man I come home to who won’t ever fucking listen to me.”_

She had slept on the couch for that, and even if her back twinged when she got up too fast in the morning, it was worth it. Nate needed to understand that he was not the priority when it came to her job. She loved him and he was important, but she wouldn’t be boxed into making him her main concern when she was working hard and enjoying her work. She was not his priority with his job (which him declining more hours without talking to her about it had confirmed). So, fuck him.

“What’s wrong with you,” Emily asked her as soon as she stormed into the office with coffees balanced perfectly in once hand, and bags of scarves and lingerie grasped in the other.

“You don’t have enough time for me to answer that,” Andy huffed. Emily scowled prettily in a way Andy hadn’t figured out how to imitate yet, and snapped her fingers to move faster.

“She’ll be here in ten minutes, maybe less, so get on with it, will you,” Emily ordered. Andy didn’t bother to answer her, she simply put away the bags and moved to set up Miranda’s desk for the day. She was placing the steaming coffee cup on the custom coaster when the striking sound of Miranda’s arrival rang through the air in a series of loud clacks. Emily barely murmured a “good morning, Miranda,” when a fur coat was tossed her direction, cutting her off and launching her into action putting the coat away. Miranda didn’t even glance at her before strutting up to her desk, which Andy was stepping away from.

“Close the doors,” Miranda ordered. “Sit.” Andy followed the instructions, and sat primly, prepping her brain to recall any and all errands Miranda was about to shoot at her.

“What happened,” she asked. Andy frowned.

“I went to Claire this morning and got the skirts-“

“I don’t care about Claire and all her orange hair dye,” Miranda interrupted. “Why do you look like that?”

Andy looked down at her clothes. She was dressed in a perfectly stylish white blouse and a practical black skirt with stockings and heels. She was accessorised to a tee and her makeup was perfect.

“I like Dior,” she answered, but it sounded far too like a question. Miranda’s nostrils flared.

“You are wearing the simplest outfit you’ve worn in weeks, and that only happens when- well, I don’t know. You tell me,” Miranda said. Andy didn’t let the stumble go unnoticed.

“I’m trying to figure out if I can afford to live alone when Nate eventually leaves me,” she answered as plainly as possible. She saw something, a spark of interest perhaps – or pity? – appear on Miranda’s face. Grey eyes studied her for a prolonged moment before nodding once, and sitting behind the desk.

“Don’t forget to tell Emily, Andréa,” Miranda reminded softly. Andy nodded and stood, the “that’s all” unnecessary between them most times and marched out of the office.

“Em,” she said, jerking her head to the small kitchenette. Emily looked pointedly to the phone in front of her which Andy ignored, walking to the small nook for the privacy that she needed to break this news.

“What,” Emily huffed when she finally stood before Andy.

“Listen to everything I have to say, then you may speak,” Andy told her firmly. “Miranda is taking me to Paris,” she managed to say before Emily became a hissing, rageful thing.

“I knew it,” she said, “I _knew_ you were after my job! And Nigel told me you weren’t and Serena said you didn’t have a mean bone in your body but you-“ she began tearing up, her voice getting pitchy and high. Andy grabbed her around her stick thin arms and squeezed.

“It’s not by my will, Emily. It’s a test,” she emphasised. Because it was, really, but maybe not in the way Emily thought. “Miranda knows that I would never step on your toes to get ahead, and she knows that you live and die for Paris Fashion Week. She’s doing this because if we do this and do it well, we both get something from her,” Andy explained as simply as she could. She knew Miranda would get a kind of support from Andy that she wouldn’t from Emily, but she didn’t say that, of course. “She’ll make it up to you, Emily, and when she does, it’ll be better than stressing too much to enjoy PWF, okay?”

It was a huge testament to Emily’s and Andy’s burgeoning trust and friendship that Emily nodded and took a deep breath.

“I hate you,” she said, much to Andy’s relief. She was truly worried for a moment.

“Yeah, I know. Me too,” she says with a small, apologetic smile. Emily nods once sharply and turns to go off to the ladies’ room. Andy knows to leave her alone for the rest of the day, and to be quite honest, that arrangement suits her just fine.

“What’s wrong with you,” Miranda said as soon as she arrived in her office after being summoned. Andy was thrown for a moment, not even ten minutes before having been in a similar situation.

“Huh?”

“Very intelligent, Andréa. I mean why on earth would you wait for him to leave you when you can leave him?”

“Well, he could keep the apartment,” Andy said unsurely.

“Is it in his name?”

The conversation was even more personal than she’d usually allow with friends, but Andy answered anyway. “No, it’s in mine.”

“So, tell him that he shapes up or he ships out. You don’t have to wait for him to do anything, Andréa. I’d be disappointed if you did,” Miranda said, looking from her to whatever she was doing at her desk.

“I- Uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hmm, see that you do. That’s all.”

Andy told Nate that night.

_“Do you want to be with me?”_

_“You know I do-”_

_“No, not as I was. As I am now, do you want to be with me. I won’t stop working at_ Runway _, I won’t stop arguing with you when you tell me that I work too much or when you want me around for convenience’s sake.” He paused and thought for a moment (it was the most mature thing she’d seen him do in months)._

_“No,” he said regretfully. It hurt that the man that Andy had fallen in love with once upon a time was now just a man she lived and fought with._

_“Then we need to think about our options.”_

_“I… I talked to Lily,” he said guiltily. So much for maturity._

_“Well, then, you keep talking to Lily about that. Lease is up next month. You have until then to sort yourself out.”_

He was gone after that and didn’t return in the morning.

“Well,” Miranda asked the next morning.

“Sorted,” Andy said, knowing instinctively what Miranda meant by her unprompted questioning.

“Good.”

Andy didn’t want to read into it but, yeah, it was good, because now she could think about Miranda with one less moral obstacle (to think about Miranda made her feel like she was cheating on Nate, and no, she wasn’t ready to think about what that meant). Nate, in the month leading up to the resigning of the lease, still paid his share for food and for rent and maintenance. In a way, they went back to being roommates, which was what they had started out as, but it was tense, as expected.

Andy would get home late and wouldn’t apologise. Nate wouldn’t argue with her, he’d simply sit and watch the television, ignoring her altogether. She hadn’t heard from Lily, so she was ready to assume that Nate had confided in her about every hideously selfish thing Andy had ever done and then some. She was upset and lonely, especially as it seemed that half a decade of friendship with Lily had been interrupted by a _boy_ of all things. Doug hadn’t talked to anyone at all, which Andy respected. She was busy anyway.

Bumping into Christian Thompson at a small soiree Andy was attending briefly on Miranda’s behalf was not ideal. What it was, though, was opportunistic, which Andy was learning to be with integrity.

“Miranda Girl,” Christian would call her. “Come have a drink with me.”

She’d bristle at the nickname and at the demand on her time, but would grin and bear it for a few moments to save face. She was glad to have done it this time because Christian was drunk. Not just drunk, but _drunk drunk._ He was seven sheets to the wind and loose lipped, as it turned out. Andy soaked up the free information like a sponge.

“…Follet, she’s amazing, and it’s gonna be such a good deal for me…” he slurred. Andy smiled and nodded, saying nothing and hoping to god that he would forget she was even there the morning after. “…Miranda’s old anyway, and Irv hates being one-upped by a woman… Kinda sexist to me, but hey, if I can reap the rewards…”

Andy left the soiree and adjusted Miranda’s schedule to allow for a short meeting the next morning. She fell asleep, Nate nowhere to be found, and hoped the next day was better.

“I have a meeting in five minutes,” Miranda scolded as Andy walked into her office the next day. She shut the doors behind her, ignoring Emily’s probing gaze, and turned to Miranda with her notebook in hand and determination in her eyes.

“It’s with me. I scheduled it last night,” Andy said, sitting at one of the atrociously uncomfortable chairs opposite Miranda. She ignored the quirked brow and jumped straight into her news. “Irv, Christian and Jacqueline are in on a scheme to replace you.” Needless to say, she had Miranda’s attention the whole time she recalled what Christian had said.

“I see. Christian told you this?”

“Yes.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Absolutely. It was the only reason he told me, I wager.”

“Quite…”

“Miranda,” Andy said seriously. Miranda looked at her. “What are we going to do?”

Miranda looked at her some more as she pondered.

“I will speak to Nigel. You may go,” Miranda said, looking back to the computer in front of her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy said as she stood and walked back to her desk.

“What the bloody—”

“Later,” Andy said. Emily, for once, acquiesced.

“Well?” Emily said later, when Miranda had left for a lunch appointment with some hotshot up-and-comer.

Andy explained the situation, how confidential it is, how Miranda would talk to Nigel.

“It’s your fault. Somehow. It’s always your bloody fault.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Andy said with a roll of her eyes. They were silently working when Miranda returned.

“You informed her then?”

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Good. Emily, look into James Holt International and tell me who he has lined up for president. Andréa, get me coffee.” Emily did as she was told, as did Andy. “Sit,” Miranda said when Andy returned with hot coffee. “I am placing an extraordinary amount of trust in you by saying this. It goes without warning that should you betray that trust, it may very well be the last thing you do in New York.”

“You know I would never.” Miranda stared at her for a long moment, assessing.

“I do. Regardless, it had to be said. Moving along, my husband will ask me for a divorce while I’m in Paris if my suspicions are correct. I am going to give him the papers before we leave.”

Andy nodded, wondering when Miranda was going to tell her what to do in the wake of all that. But Miranda did not follow up with a set of instructions, nor did she shoo Andy away. It took a long second of thinking, but then Andy did realise that Miranda was not looking for assistance, she was looking for support. Andy she was looking to Andy for support.

“I’m sorry that it will create difficulty for you, but I think it’s a good decision,” she hazarded saying. She wasn’t sure how far she was allowed to go, especially as the boundaries of their wavering friendship remained unclear. But it seemed to placate Miranda, who hummed and stared out a window.

“My children will… It will be a hard time for them,” Miranda said hesitantly. Andy was nervous now, knowing that any false move regarding Miranda’s daughters would mean certain doom for her.

“They are resilient, Miranda. It’s one of your greatest qualities, and you’ve fostered it in them with grace,” she said completely sincerely. Caroline and Cassidy could be brats at the worst of times, spoiled and poorly behaved, but they weren’t worse than any other preteen, and they certainly dealt with things that no other eleven-year-old has had to. At the best of times though, they were funny, frighteningly mature and so much like what Andy thought their mother would have been like as a girl.

“You mean that, I suppose,” Miranda said, off-handed.

“I do.”

“Right, well. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.

It was just before Paris that Nate moved out completely from their apartment and into Lily’s. Andy didn’t re-sign the lease, decided to put what was left of her furniture into storage and to close the lease altogether. She organised with Nigel to stay with him in his spare bedroom when they came back from Paris and to pay him rent until she could find a place on her own. She was embarrassed to have asked him, but he had agreed with a jovial smile.

“I’ve never had a slumber party with a girl,” he said with a grin. “We’ll do facemasks and talk about boys.” Andy laughed.

“Whatever you want, Nige.”

Then, they were headed to Paris, Emily staying behind to deal with the immediate response from Miranda’s divorce, which Stephen had predictably let leak.

Paris was as beautiful as she remembered it being, and a sort of busy that even caught Andy off-guard. There were paps everywhere asking questions in French and English both, flashing cameras and writhing with a chaotic energy that Andy despised. She wondered how Miranda managed to deal with it all the time then realised it probably took a lot of practice and fake calm. It was the eve before the James Holt luncheon that Andy got the full game plan so to speak from Nigel.

“If Jacqueline is president then Irv has no one to replace Miranda with, and when JHI goes bust, which it will, then Jacqueline will also go bust. Miranda will blacklist Christian, and when the September issue is released, she’ll compare her performance with Jacqueline’s from recent years. The board will see that Irv was more self-serving than he ought to have been, and boom,” Nigel said with flair, “three wretched little birds with one stone.”

“She’s scary,” Andy said, sipping the champagne they had opened. “I’m glad to be on her side.” Nigel looked at her with something annoyingly like pity. “What?”

“Don’t be foolish about it, okay? That’s all I’ll say.” When Andy went to open her mouth, he held up a hand. “I don’t need you to defend yourself or explain. I just mean that I don’t want you to get burned. I love you, even if your taste of fashion used to be the same as your grandmother’s.”

Andy rolled her eyes.

“Love you too,” she said, cheers-ing him again and drinking to their friendship. She was glad to have Nigel, insults and unsolicited pity and cryptic advice and all. She drank her champagne.


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris fashion Week, 2006, only different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot this fic existed for a hot minute! Please forgive me. I think the next chapter is a little longer, but this one is short on purpose. Enjoy!

When she arrived to Miranda’s suite that evening to give her the Book and leave her schedule for the next day, she was surprised to see Miranda sat upon her couch, light makeup done and her hair styled as it always was. She was, however, wearing a robe that seemed to be worn and well-loved, even as it was the most unfashionable thing she’d ever seen Miranda in.

“Is everything okay?” she asked without thinking. Miranda looked at her and said nothing. She looked back to the point on the carpet with laser focus. She was thinking very hard on something, Andy knew. But the what was anyone’s guess.

“Sit,” Miranda said quietly. Andy moved to the chaise opposite Miranda’s. “Not there.”

Andy took a deep breath and moved to the same chaise as Miranda and perched on the opposite end. She was close enough to smell Miranda’s perfume which was lovely.

“Has Nate moved out?” Miranda asked after several long, confusing moments where Andy wondered why she was there.

“Yes,” she said. She was anxious, she realised.

“Stephen has moved out also,” Miranda said after a tense silence. “Cara told me before,” Miranda added uselessly.

“That’s… good.”

“Yes.”

“Miranda—”

“Andréa—”

Andy laughed when they spoke at the same time, sure that this is the strangest conversation she’s ever had with Miranda. “You go first.” Miranda didn’t smile or laugh or smirk. She remained curiously still.

“It is my intention for Emily to be transferred wherever she’d like to go in _Runway_. And for Nigel to have the opportunity to spearhead a project of mine. They will both be independent of me as their boss… I have the same intentions for you,” Miranda added hesitantly, frowning at her reluctance.

“I still have a few months,” Andy said. “No pressure just yet.” Miranda glared at her to shut up. She did.

“You will not be offered a place at _Runway._ ”

Andy was strangely hurt by this. She didn’t want to work at _Runway_ forever, didn’t have the same drive for it she does for journalism, but that Miranda didn’t want her there is hurtful none the less. Miranda must have seen the offence, because she hurries, in a way that made her seem like she wasn’t hurrying at all, to say more.

“I will give you a reference to go anywhere you’d like to. But it is not that simple,” Miranda explained.

“I’m not following, Miranda.”

“My divorce with Stephen will be very brief. I have evidence of several affairs he has had. Nate no longer lives with you and you are not with him anymore—”

“—Miranda, are you… are you…”

“Well, I am _trying_ ,” the older woman huffs. “Men make it seem so inconsequential, but it is quite stressful.”

“Sorry, just to clarify,” Andy said, bafflement colouring her tone, “You’re… I mean you are _actually_ asking me…”

“Yes. I am.”

There she is, Andy thinks. The proud Miranda that had been curiously absent until now. Her shoulders were steeled, her posture rigid, her gaze keen and sharp. She looked formidable, and though Andy had always vaguely thought of Miranda as attractive, she hadn’t realised until then that she was attracted to Miranda in any lasting, genuine way. It’s unfortunate, she will acknowledge in future, but she could only process one thing at a time. Her burgeoning bisexuality took priority over being— well, she wasn’t actually asked anything, but whatever that was that Miranda did.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“I mean, um. Is it— geez. Can we please revisit this when I don’t work for you?” Miranda pursed her lips. “Let me be clear,” Andy said. “I’m excited by the idea, I just need to become used to the reality of it being a possibility. Besides,” she added with what she hoped was calm logic, “Until your divorce is done, nothing can even remotely happen.”

“That was… disappointingly logical,” Miranda said flatly to which Andy laughed a little manically. “I was expecting something… more, I suppose.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Andy chuckled dryly, not really feeling humorous at all.

Miranda frowned at her.

“Do not apologise,” she snapped, softening a beat after. “You made very mature points which I should have considered. I should not have brought this up so soon.”

“I’m glad you did, but if anything happened too early then it would be a real circus if the press found out. God forbid if Stephen did.” Miranda shuddered at the thought.

“Yes, well. Your forethought is admirable. Your consideration is also…” Miranda searched for the right word, “appreciated.”

“Of course,” Andy said simply. She was tempted by the newly awakened portion of her brain to kiss Miranda and could tell that Miranda was thinking something similar. But she was serious when she told Miranda they would need to wait and Andy would need to think. So, she bid Miranda a good evening and with a quiet, “sleep well, Miranda,” she was gone from the suite and straight to her room.

As she showered, Andy thought instantly to the two college professors that she’d had what she called a ‘professional crush’ on. She laughed, realising how oblivious she’d been. Her Christian upbringing in Cincinnati of all places probably (definitely) had something to do with that. She would need a while to come to terms with it, maybe a talk with Doug too if he was willing, before she could consider dating a woman.

“A woman twice my age,” Andy marvelled as she dried and changed into pyjamas. “With _kids_ ,” she said as she climbed into her comfortable hotel bed. “Holy shit.”

The failed coup the next day was background noise to Andy’s rapid line of thinking. She watched Miranda stand at the luncheon in an undeniably flattering Valentino dress. It wasn’t the first time Andy had caught herself regarding Miranda’s exposed shoulders, but it _was_ the first time she’d understood the significance behind the distraction. And the way Miranda’s hair left her neck bared, that forelock bringing her attention to her eyes… It was very consuming.

“…It is my great happiness today to announce to you all that that person is my friend and long-time esteemed colleague, Jacqueline Follet.”

The round of applause that followed was surprisingly supportive, especially from Nigel, though his was insincere.

“I wish her luck,” he said to Andy under his breath, eyeing Jacqueline with distaste. “She’ll need it.”

Andy thought she should feel bad for her and she did in a way. She hoped Jacqueline would make it out relatively unscathed from whatever downfall Miranda had predicted. The thought made her feel dreadful.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Miranda said once they were in the car. “You get used to it, but it never gets easier.”

“It’s a good thing,” Andy insists. “Means you’re still… empathetic.” Miranda huffed a false little laugh.

“If you say so.” She looked from the window to Andy.

The brunette was distracted yet again thinking about Elise Ville from middle school who she had thought to be her best friend. She was now sure that she actually had a crush on the blonde girl, then got lost in thoughts of how her old school mate might be, even if they hadn’t spoken in about twelve years.

“Have you really not realised? About… you know.” Andy blinked at the question. “Oh,” Miranda said. “I thought you knew.”

“ _You_ knew?”

“You doubted? You are remarkably unsubtle at times. Today for example,” Miranda said, gesturing vaguely to her exposed skin.

“No,” Andy said a little bitterly. “I hadn’t realised.”

“Well, it’s good that you have now. Makes things much easier,” Miranda said, waving away Andy’s sourness. Her words served to stoke Andy’s frustration, however.

“Easier for who?” she asked with a moue. Miranda turned and regarded her, noticing the tightness in Andy’s brow.

“For us both,” Miranda replied simply. “I will not have to be so patient and you may realise a truth about yourself that you will perhaps need to live a happier, honest life.”

“I’m not living a dishonest life,” she gritted out. Miranda’s flippancy about this, her disregard for the inner turmoil that Andy will have to speculate over for months is perhaps the most hurtful and infuriating thing Miranda has ever done.

“No, but it’s not entirely honest either, is it,” Miranda asked rhetorically. It sounded snide.

“Nothing about life is entirely honest. Not my sexuality, which is none of your business, by the way, and not that luncheon we just went to.”

“I am not trying to laud my superiority over you, Andréa. Adjust your tone.”

“Don’t speak about it like it’s a new lampshade or a vase to find a spot for. It’s not so little.”

Miranda seemed as though she was about to say something lengthy when they turn onto the street of their next fashion show.

“It’s like being red-green colour-blind all your life then seeing the grass and the trees in the height of spring.”

Andy, a hodgepodge of emotion, was stopped short at the soft analogy Miranda provided and the open expression on her face.

“Yeah,” is all she could say as Miranda turned to get out of the car. She got out on the street side and walked around the car to walk behind Miranda through the wall of paparazzo into the event. Andy leaned forward when Miranda turned and looked at her for a long moment in the middle of the crowd.

“It’s spring,” Miranda said lowly, so low that Andy almost couldn’t hear. She nodded, overwhelmed and Miranda turned without another word and kept walking.

The day was busy, and Andy felt like she was living in the moment for the first time that day. Paris seemed brighter, the colours richer, and she wondered if Miranda wasn’t being literal about being colour-blind. That being said, she felt sick on the richness of it all, like too much chocolate cake or caviar. She was relieved when they boarded the plane the next day back to America. Miranda had her working double time in preparation for their return, and it was a comfort that Miranda treated her like any other employee despite the limbo Miranda decided to shift them into.

“Have Leslie and my lawyer ready to brief me when we land,” Miranda said to Andy about three hours into their flight. Andy was overwhelmed again with the desire to kiss Miranda, but refrained and made certain to prevent it from showing.

Everyone but Andy was allowed to have the rest of the day (they landed at three in the afternoon) to recuperate and then a later start the next morning.

“It will be the last rest most of them get for the next few weeks,” Miranda explained. “I will be sure to split responsibility between you and Emily.” Andy is both touched and uncomfortable by the consideration. Miranda seemed to sense that, and said nothing else of the sort to Andy in the following weeks.

“I’ve been transferred,” Emily said to Andy on her arrival one morning, weeks after Paris. “I’m going to accessories.” Andy can hear the excitement in her voice, but sees none of it on her face. Andy smiled at her and moved to hug the redhead. “What are you doing? Stop that!” But Andy hugged her anyway, laughing at her co-worker. She didn’t mention that Emily hugged her back, or that she smiled so largely that Andy can feel it on her shoulder.

“Remember us little people when you’re a hot-shot director, okay?”

“Posh,” Emily said, shooing her away and back to her desk to begin the day. “God help you. You’ll ruin everything without me here to tell you what to do.”

“It’ll be tough, for sure, but I’ll manage,” Andy said. Emily practically preened. Andy grinned at her monitor and let Emily glare at her to her heart’s content.


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's October, maybe, but definitely spring. Andy is sure to make Miranda aware of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This one is shorter than the last one but there's an epilogue that I'm going to post immediately after I post this chapter.

That tension that Andy had forgotten existed between her and Miranda was back when Emily had finally been moved to her new department. This limbo between them was nearing an end, especially once Andy hired a new second assistant, and then had another lined up for when she left. It came to a head when Miranda called her into her office a week after Andy’s year was officially up.

“Shut the door.” She did. “Sit.” She sat.

Silence.

“Um,” Andy said.

“I have recommended you to two editors who both owe me favours. One is at _The Post_ , and the other is at _Rolling Stone_. You have your pick between them.”

“Oh.” Miranda seemed caught off-guard by her lack of enthusiasm.

“If you’d prefer somewhere else then I shall refer you, of course,” she said, sniffing daintily. “Based on the articles you included in your resume, those publications seemed the best fit.”

“No, I… Thank you. _Rolling Stone_ , please.” She smiled at Miranda which puts the editor at ease.

“I will make some phone calls and let you know. That’s all.”

“Yes, Miranda,” Andy said, standing and walking back to her desk. She accepted the job offer that Miranda presented her with a few hours later. It’s slightly better paying than an entry level position, but much higher paying than her current salary. She predicted that within three months, with some help from her parents, she’ll be able to get her own apartment and stop being Nigel’s biggest cockblock ever. Poor man has had to postpone having a date with his tentative boyfriend on account of Andy living with him for the time being.

She was set to leave _Runway_ after a two week resignation notice. Andy reasoned that she didn’t have to think about the conversation that her and Miranda still haven’t had yet, but then a week and a half is lost to dizzying busyness and the end is truly nigh.

“Getting close now,” Nigel said to her, three days before she left _Runway_ for good. Andy was startled to realise that Miranda had made no hint to speak with her. Andy had, in the months since Paris, thought long and hard about her sexuality, sliding comfortably into the label of bisexual. She’d spoken with her sister about it, and her mother, but not her father. The family she had told had been supportive, if a little hesitant at the news. She didn’t begrudge them that, but it did hurt to hear her mother cry when she told her. Her mother had composed herself and told Andy that she would be loved no matter what. It was bittersweet but not so bad, she supposed.

Andy had also thought about the idea of being in a relationship with, or even just _dating_ , Miranda. The facts were: Miranda was from a whole other generation, a whole other country, a whole other upbringing. She had two children who were a little under half Andy’s age. She was Andy’s boss, a woman, and firmly rooted in the wealth and fame that came with her very public career. Those were a lot of obstacles. Not all were impossible to overcome, but certainly they’d be difficult.

The biggest thing that Andy had needed to consider was if she was even attracted to Miranda. Of course, Miranda was very attractive, one of the most attractive people Andy had ever seen, but did that mean that Andy wanted to be with Miranda? Because for all of Miranda’s gorgeousness, she had a few qualities that Andy didn’t appreciate. But it was when she imagined being with Miranda, in a romantic sense, that Andy realised the answer to her musing was _yes_. She was attracted to Miranda. Now, what to do about that?

Delivering the Book for the last time was nerve-wracking. Knowing her she’d manage to smash a flower vase or something ridiculous like that, but besides that, this was the time she’d chosen to talk to Miranda. Miranda didn’t know that, which made Andy realise that she probably should have given the woman a heads up. _Too late now, though_ , she thought as she hung up the dry-cleaning and moved to the den where Miranda had called out to Andy.

“Any problems?” Miranda asked, accepting the Book.

“Not that I was informed of. Nigel’s pretty sure they fixed the spread on page ninety, though.”

“Good,” Miranda nodded. She looked up at Andy from her armchair when she didn’t leave, glasses sat on her nose.

“May I sit?”

Miranda blinked.

“I suppose.”

“I leave _Runway_ tomorrow,” she began with. Miranda pursed her lips and Andy, for the first time _ever_ , thought it looked cute. “We might not have another natural opportunity to talk.”

“I agree,” Miranda said. “And what is it you’d like to say to me, Andréa?” Miranda looked ready to defend herself.

“There are lots of things in the way of… _this_. Lots of things.”

“I hadn’t realised,” Miranda said sarcastically. Andy ignored the comment.

“I don’t know the first thing about dating women, or dating older women, or dating older, famous, wealthy women. You are all of those. And I don’t know anything about kids who aren’t my little cousins and my niece and nephew. I don’t know anything about spending money without thinking about a million other things I could be spending it on.”

“Andréa, if you have a point then kindly make it and quickly.” Andy smiled a little.

“I want to go on a date with you,” she said succinctly. Miranda looked surprised, then oddly pleased. “I don’t know how to do any of it, but I’m pretty good at winging it, I think.”

“I am difficult—”

“Everything you’re about to say, I already know. I work for you. I know how you are. Everyone is difficult. It’ll be fine.”

Miranda paused for a second.

“You seem oddly confident in all of this.”

Andy shrugged.

“It’s just a date. Or a few. I have plenty of time to panic later.” Miranda huffed a laugh.

“You are so young,” she said, then looked guilty.

“I am young,” Andy confirmed. She was confident enough to be frank about this especially, mostly because it was true and there wasn’t a thing she or anyone else could do to change it. “We have completely different ways of viewing life. But as long as you respect me, and you know that I respect you, then that will be okay too.”

“I do respect you,” Miranda said, matter of factly. “I will show you that in a way I’m not permitted as yet. But you will know.”

“I have every faith,” Andy said standing, running her palms along her thighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miranda,” she said over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Andréa.”

And it was a very good night.

She was two weeks into her job at _Rolling Stone_ when she received an email from Miranda. The content is simple. It’s a proposed time on a schedule from one to two the coming Thursday afternoon. There was no writing, only the option to confirm, deny or propose another time. She clicked ‘confirm’ and got back to work. When another email landed in her inbox, it was again from Miranda, but this one was much less impersonal.

_Hope you have settled well. I expect great things, Andréa. I shall see you Thursday. MP._

Andy smiled and responded quickly, getting back to work shortly after.

Nigel wasn’t home when she arrived back at the apartment that night. She made a quick meal and left a plate in the microwave for Nigel and a note then showered and went right to sleep. She selected her outfit the morning of her date with the utmost care, ensuring that she looked both work appropriate and attractive. She had Nigel check her before he left. He approved her choice and shot her a knowing wink as he walked out the door. She smiled the whole subway ride.

“Looking good, Sachs,” Jack, a copyeditor, complimented. Andy smiled and thanked him but moved on to her desk and got to work. The hours, predictably, dragged, but she had been productive with them, and had no leftover work to worry about after lunch.

“I’m headed to lunch,” she told Marie, her boss. “I’m going take a longer break but I’ll stay late this evening,” she added. Marie waved her off, and Andy didn’t argue with the permission. She made her way down to her lobby when she stopped short at the doors of her building. She didn’t actually know where she was meant to go, and Miranda hadn’t emailed with more information.

“Dang,” she hissed, moving out of the way of the doors and rifling through her handbag for her phone.

“Andréa?”

She looked up, hand deep in the recesses of her bag to see Miranda standing the middle of the lobby to her building, the eyes of everyone else on the unmistakable figure.

“We’re going to be late,” Miranda said, lips lightly pursed at the thought of being tardy. Andy followed the woman as she walked confidently out of the building and into the car idling on the curb outside. As if on auto-pilot, Andy slid into the car on the street side and beside Miranda in the back.

“Hey, Andy,” Roy greeted.

“Hey, Roy,” she returned before he lifted the privacy screen. She turned to Miranda with a large grin. “Hey,” she said shyly. Miranda rolled her eyes with a small smile.

“Hello, Andréa.”

“How are you?”

“Small talk?”

“Talk talk.”

“ _Talk_ talk? My, how your vocabulary had expanded since you left us.”

“Ha ha,” Andy said sarcastically, grin still in place.

“I am well, thank you. And you?”

“Better by the minute. Nervous.”

“Don’t be. It’s just lunch.”

“Not just lunch,” Andy said. “It’s spring.”

Miranda’s eyes sparkled.

“Is it?”

“Yes, Miranda.”

Miranda looked down to Andy’s mouth then back to her eyes.

“I’m glad to hear it, I assure you.”

“I’m glad to say it. Now, what’s for lunch? I’m starving.”

Miranda rolled her eyes.


	5. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending and Miranda, both? Satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one bites the dust! Thank you to those who commented and left kudos! You all for real kept me sane x

Each subsequent date happened that way. Miranda was largely the pursuer in their romance, which Andy constantly confirmed was the way Miranda wanted it. Miranda did, refreshed by the change of her role in a romance after being married to a man for so long. They were both shy in their way, but as the weeks turned into months, they fell into step with one another in more ways than one. The twins didn’t really acknowledge Andy as a person of authority to them the way Miranda wanted them to, but Andy reassured her that it would all happen when everyone was ready for that.

It had turned into one of their first fights as a couple, actually. Miranda had been upset that Andy seemed reluctant to be around the twins, and Andy was frustrated that Miranda wanted her to mother children that she didn’t know very well, or have the experience to rear. They didn’t speak to each other for several days, both piqued, but then Miranda called her and admitted that she missed Andy. Andy admitted to missing Miranda and the rest was history, so to speak. Andy didn’t expect Miranda to acknowledge that Andy was right (which was good, because Miranda was going to admit no such thing).

To Miranda’s combined delight and chagrin, by their second anniversary, the twins had warmed completely to Andy, trusting the brunette to be a person they could rely on like they could their mother. Miranda tried to pretend it didn’t sting when her children would go to Andy for advice rather than her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be truly jealous. She loved Andréa and her daughters too much for that.

“Faster,” Miranda panted, face down on the bed. Andréa went faster. She groaned.

“So beautiful,” Andréa praised, moving with speed and depth.

Miranda loved when she got like this. Her lover would wildly make love to her, pausing for nothing until Miranda was wrung of every inch of pleasure she could receive. But she would praise Miranda so softly, with such tenderness that Miranda’s heart was as full as other places. It was the sweetest juxtaposition she’d ever experienced.

“You’re amazing, so gorgeous,” Andy panted. “All mine,” she added, and it was that that brought Miranda to her crest.

To have and be had was all Miranda craved from life, and no one seemed to do that like Andréa.

She heard Andréa moving around their bedroom, a sink running, then the bed dipping as Andréa crawled in behind her, wrapping her body around Miranda.

“Thanks for hiring me,” her lover said suddenly. Miranda huffed a laugh, shuffling back into her lover’s embrace.

“Any time,” she slurred sleepily. “Cuddle me.”

“Yes, Miranda.”


End file.
